


To Be Continued

by intellexual_asexual



Category: Markiplier TV (Web Series)
Genre: Swearing, because the story me and the me in real life swear A LOT, i was inspired and i just couldnt resist jshgaklfh, no beta we die like actor mark, oh uh and me kjhklfgashja, oops! shameless self insert jhsdlkfhjgf, um uh spoilers for beautifuldooms stray works i guess, yes you can refer to me as Als from now on
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-28
Updated: 2021-02-28
Packaged: 2021-03-19 04:54:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,931
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29745303
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/intellexual_asexual/pseuds/intellexual_asexual
Summary: Author realizes that his day keeps repeating. Over and over and over. Is there anyone out there who could stop the loop?A continuation of Chapter 29 ("Looping") of Beautiful_Doom's "Stray Drabbles"
Comments: 7
Kudos: 3





	To Be Continued

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Beautiful_Doom](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Beautiful_Doom/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Stray Drabbles](https://archiveofourown.org/works/28775247) by [Beautiful_Doom](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Beautiful_Doom/pseuds/Beautiful_Doom). 



> God help me, this only took me two hours. I wish my inspiration would lead me elsewhere but, alas, my braincells decided that this continuation had been put off long enough. And, uh, sorry if this is all sorts of over the place, my brain cells are sort of still on their unannounced vacation. Anyway, enjoy!

The Author didn’t think anything of it at first. The whole “looping day” concept happened sometimes, and usually the day stopped repeating after two or three loops.

Usually.

After the seventh loop (the seventh time he fell down the staircase, the seventh time that food fight started at dinner, the seventh time the MerMen almost drowned him), Author began to suspect that something… happened. That something was off, or wrong. 

He waited, though. He waited for the corgi. Maybe they were just… tired. He knew that sometimes writers needed to take breaks.

After the thirteenth loop, Author grew concerned. He started a tally of how many times the day kept repeating. It had started on a single sheet of paper, but the tallies crawled onto the walls of his bedroom rather quickly. A constant reminder of the horrible scenario he was placed in.

Author tried to make a game out of it, at first. How many times could he change the end of the day? How many times could he make something else happen? How many ways could he avoid his fate of tripping down the stairs, of his near-death experience in the pool?

...

After the two hundred and sixtieth loop (Author placed a few haphazardly drawn stars beside the new tally mark on his wall, as he slid beside them in a teary heap), Author didn’t leave his room that morning. _He_ was tired now. He was tired of repeating the same day over and over and over. And over. And over. And overandoverandoverandover—

Suddenly, he heard a knock on his door. “Author? Author, are you in there?”

~ ꕤꕤꕤꕤꕤ ~

Dr. Iplier woke up with a weird feeling. Almost as if he had awoken from some… nightmare. Strange, considering the last thing he remembered from his dream was an enormous golden retriever.

He got up out of bed and prepared for the day as usual. It was pretty early, but he had to be up at this hour in case some idiot ego decided that skateboarding on a low charge was a good idea. ...Again.

Dr. Iplier entered the kitchen, and unsurprisingly there was already a kettle on the stove and a pot of coffee brewing. The Host was muttering to himself as he stood in front of his breakfast, and Dr, Iplier heard him say, “...entered the room and surveyed his surroundings before taking a single piece of bacon from the Host’s plate.”

The doctor indeed did take a piece of Host’s bacon, and Host frowned at him. “Dr. Iplier could not have just made himself some breakfast? He just had to take some of the Host’s?”

He shrugged. “Sorry, Host. I’m not taking any more, I swear.” Dr. Iplier held his hands up as a sign of surrender, and he could sense the implied eye roll that Host gave him.

Dr. Iplier realized that he and Host were the only egos in the room. He raised an eyebrow. “I would’ve thought that at least one of the Sides would be in here by now.”

“The Host tells Dr. Iplier that today is Saturday, and that it is currently four-thirty in the morning.”

“Oh.” Had he really lost track of the days? He could have swore that yesterday was Tuesday… and four-thirty wasn’t _that_ early of an hour in this house, accounting for the sheer amount of psychopaths that are living here. Most of them were early-birds.

Host turned back to his food and said, through a mouthful of eggs, “The Host would like to remind Dr. Iplier that the… ah, ‘crazies,’ for lack of a better term, that live here do not regularly eat as soon as they wake up.”

Dr. Iplier stopped pouring himself some coffee. “What? Are you kidding me, Host? You could’ve at least told me that those diet plans that I handed out were going to be useless.”

“If Dr. Iplier would like to try and pin down Yandereplier and Mad Mike for a bit of breakfast, he is welcome to. But the Host foresees at least four possible futures in which Dr. Iplier is maimed, and three in which he is tossed from the roof.”

The doctor sighed, and Host chuckled at him as he finished making his coffee.

The rest of the morning was fairly uneventful. Dr. Iplier didn’t have anyone come into his clinic, and he felt a mixture of relief and confusion. Relief because Saturday was usually the day that all of the Egos decided to get injured, and confusion because… well, nobody was injured yet. Dr. Iplier was sure that at least one Iplier had to have broken a bone by now…

At eleven o’clock sharp someone suddenly opened the doors to the clinic, and Dr. Iplier looked up from his paperwork to see Host. He rolled his eyes. “Are you here to enact revenge on me for stealing your one piece of breakfast? If you’re here for a bandage change, though, you’ll have to wait just a moment, I need—”

Host looked solemn, and the bandage around his sockets was looking a little red. “The Host has not seen the Author yet this morning. He cannot See inside his room. But the Host can See that Dr. Iplier needs to go to him immediately.”

Dr. Iplier’s eyes widened as he shot up from his office chair. “Host, if you can’t use your Sight properly you need to tell Dark—”

“The Host can’t.” Blood dripped down Host’s face as he spoke. “The Host can not approach Darkiplier’s office, and he cannot See why.”

Dr. Iplier ran a hand through his hair, a nervous habit that he really ought to break. “OK, well, I guess I’m going to see Author, then. Are you coming with me, or…?”

Host shook his head. “The only future the Host can See the outcome of is one where Dr. Iplier ventures to the Author’s bedroom alone. It is… not desirable, but the Host Sees no other way.”

This was… scary, to say the least. Host sounded like Dr. Iplier was going up there to _die_ or something. He left the clinic and walked up the stairs, though, and when he knocked on Author’s door he may or may not have been shaking.

“Author? Author, are you in there?”

Dr. Iplier received no response, but after testing the doorknob he found that the door was unlocked. He pushed open the door gently and had to do a double take of the room inside.

There were several vertical black marks along the walls, as if Author had been counting something. Author himself was curled up in a corner by his bed, mumbling and shaking as he clutched his Sharpie.

Dr. Iplier couldn’t do anything but stand there and stare for a few seconds, trying to figure out the situation at hand. If only Host’s ability was working properly…

He finally stepped into the room and addressed Author. “Author? Author, it’s me, it’s Dr. Iplier. I’m here to help you, OK?”

Author snapped his gaze over to the doctor, and he looked… he looked crazed. “Dr…. Huh? Did it.. Did it break? Did the loop break?”

Dr. Iplier had no idea what Author was walking about. What loop? And why was Author so happy about it being broken?

Author stood up, and Dr. Iplier instinctively took a step back. “Is it over? Am I free? Are we free from the loop?”

Dr. Iplier couldn’t help but be a little alarmed at the grin creeping up on Author’s face. “Author, I want you to take a deep breath and—”

His vision went black, as if he had passed out. The doctor still felt all of his limbs, though, and he was able to call out, “Author?”

Author appeared in front of him, just as panicked and afraid now as Dr. Iplier felt. The two of them looked at each other before looking at the space around them. They were in an abyss, a void of some kind. The dark seemed to stretch forever and ever in all directions. Dr. Iplier couldn’t see anything or anyone else in this place with them. They were alone.

“What… what is this? Where are we?”

“I was hoping _you_ would know! This is _obviously_ some sort of problem caused by you—!”

“Wha—Me? You think _I_ did this?! You think I would _want_ to be put here?! After all the shit I just went through?!”

“What the hell are you talking about, Author?!”

Dr. Iplier knew screaming at each other wasn’t going to help them. But it felt good to let his frustration out on someone. Especially someone who most likely caused this.

It seemed like Author knew that, too, as he brought his voice back down to a more civilized tone. “You are not going to believe a word of this. Any of it. But I’m going to tell you anyway. ...The day kept repeating over two hundred times. Closer to two-fifty, actually.”

Author was right, Dr. Iplier didn’t believe him. But as he kept explaining the time loop, Dr. Iplier sensed something click together in his brain. Was that why he felt strange when he woke up? 

Author told him that he had fallen down the stairs multiple times during the loop. Was that why he was confused as to why no one entered his clinic this morning?

The writer stopped speaking and looked at Dr. Iplier expectantly. He took a deep breath and ran his hand through his hair again. “I… I don’t know what to say. This is entirely possible and not the worst thing that’s happened around here. How… would we fix this? How do we get out of here?”

Author hung his head. “I should have grabbed my notebook and pen. Maybe I could have written us back.”

“You didn’t know this was going to happen, Author. We both—”

Author suddenly snapped his head back up, apparently struck with an idea. “Sharpie!”

Dr. Iplier was confused, until Author pulled his Sharpie out of his pocket and uncapped it. That’s right, he had been holding it when they… teleported? Dr. Iplier didn’t know _how_ they got here, but he was smiling hopefully as Author pushed his sleeve up and began to write on his arm. 

He mumbled what he was writing aloud. “Author and Dr. Iplier found themselves back in Author’s bedroom, and the marks on his walls were gone. Both of them sighed in relief as they exited the room and vowed never to speak of whatever just happened.”

Author stopped writing and smiled back at Dr. Iplier, as he capped his marker and waited for his aura to wrap itself around them.

But it never happened. The grins slowly fell from both of their faces, all their previous hope lost as they stood aimlessly in the abyss. What were they going to do now? How were they going to get out? Could—

A light turned on in the distance. A spotlight, they supposed. Dr. Iplier could faintly see a person sitting at some sort of table, typing on some sort of keyboard. 

Author immediately started walking toward the light, but Dr. Iplier was hesitant to follow him. This could be a trick.

But they had no other options, so Dr. Iplier followed his fellow ego as he walked up to the person. They paid the Ipliers no mind as they continued typing on their laptop. Their desk was a mess, frankly, with empty water bottles and crumpled sticky notes everywhere. There were a multitude of sticky notes stuck to the back of their laptop, and fresh stacks of them were piled high next to a mason jar of various colored pens. They stopped typing suddenly and facepalmed, as they grabbed a sticky note pad and a pen.

“No no no, that’s not supposed to fucking happen!! Ugh, they sound _so_ out of character now, this is really difficult! You guys are _really_ fucking difficult, you know that?”

They paused in their notetaking to glare at Author and Dr. Iplier, as they were only a few feet from stepping into the light. Dr. Iplier took this moment to memorize their features, in case they turned out to be someone who needed to be taken care of by Dark. Their dark brown hair was pulled back in an _extremely_ messy bun, and shorter hairs were puffing up and off of the side of their head like whiskers. Their large glasses were askew, and they wore a frown on their face as they returned to writing on their sticky note.

Dr. Iplier was hoping for Author to take charge of the situation. But he gave Dr. Ipler a glance and a raised eyebrow, and the doctor took that as his cue to start speaking. “Um, I’m sorry, who are you? And I take full offense to being called difficult.”

The person paused again and sighed. They looked up at the two Ipliers with a much more pleasant expression. “Sorry, I tend not to make good first impressions. You can call me Als, and you two don’t have to tell me your names because I already know them. I don’t mean to offend you when I say you’re being difficult, you know. Because it’s the truth, you two are _very_ hard to write. Especially you!” Als gestured to Author and frowned again. “I had to do a lot of research on your character, mister!”

Als turned back to their laptop, and Dr. Iplier was about to ask something else until Author beat him to it. “ ‘Character’? Like… like in a story?”

Als rolled their eyes and didn’t look at Author as they answered, “Yeah, like in a story. Well, fanfiction, to be more precise. I like writing regular stories, but you really have to dig deep when you write out characters, and I don’t have the time for that with essays and Algebra homework.”

_...Algebra homework_? How old was this person?

“Fifteen.”

Als shot Dr. Iplier a cheeky grin and continued typing. “Yeah, I know, I’m a child, don’t patronize me. Writing myself into a work with my favorite characters is much more enjoyable than completing whatever bullshit assignments my teachers give me.”

Author was apparently ignoring everything Als was saying, his eyebrows scrunched together as he thought. Dr. Iplier wanted to ask Als where this place was or how they could read his mind, but he felt that Author was onto something. He stood awkwardly as he waited for Author to ask his question.

“...Why are we here?”

Als stopped typing and looked Author directly in the eyes. They were suddenly serious as they said, “Out of pity.”

Author actually took a step back from the shock of such a cryptid and quick response. Als continued. “I felt bad for you, having to repeat the same day over and over again as everyone around you remained ignorant. That is what happened, no? You slowly went insane with the knowledge that you and only you were aware of your author’s abandonment of your story.”

“H-How—”

Als smiled. “I know a lot of things pertaining to fanfiction, especially your story. I’m a… a… uh, hold on.”

They typed something on their laptop, and their eyes lit up a second later. They turned back to Author. “I’m a _connoisseur_ of sorts.”

Dr. Ipler opened his mouth to ask one of the several questions now flooding his mind, but Als turned to him and said, “Of course, _you_ have no idea what we’re talking about. Hm. I guess I should send you back home, then.”

And with a few clicks of their keyboard, Dr. Iplier was suddenly dropped into his office chair. He rubbed his eyes, the light blinding him, and sat there for a while as he tried making sense of whatever just happened.

~ ꕤꕤꕤꕤꕤ ~

Author was confused. And he had to admit, he was also a little afraid.

“Good. You should be, Author, I’m basically controlling your thoughts right now.”

He shook his head and took another step back from Als. “What are you? You… you seem like the corgi, but...”

Als giggled. “The _corgi_?! Oh my God, that’s adorable. But no, I’m not like ‘the corgi’. 

“...Well,” they stopped typing for a second before continuing, “I suppose I kind of am. I write stuff, just not nearly as good as them, ha! And about the question of what I am… I’m a lot of things besides a competent fanfiction writer. I’m asexual, I’m thick as fuck, I’m sleep deprived—”

“Is—Is this a dream? Am I dreaming right now?”

Als stopped typing again. They let out a loud groan before slamming their head against their desk. “A dream!! I could have made this a dream fic!! Oh my God, with a surprise ending, too?! Man, I feel so stupid now, would you excuse me for a minute? Thanks.”

Als suddenly disappeared, and Author heard multiple cuss words being screamed in the distance. They reappeared again and told Author, “Sorry about that. I get frustrated sometimes, I just gotta let it out every once in a while, y’know? So, Author, tell me more about yourself. I’m interested in your… everything, really.”

They rested their head on their hands and looked at Author. Author didn’t tell them anything about himself, but instead asked, “How— What—?”

Als frowned. “Didn’t I just tell you? I’ve taken your little sob-story oneshot and expanded it. I’m your author now. ...Unless you don’t want that?”

They suddenly sat back up and gazed over Author with such intensity that it made him shiver. Als’ serious demeanor cracked as they laughed. “Oh man, I’ve always wanted to do that. But seriously, if you don’t like this I’m sure we can work something out. Maybe… oh, I don’t know, I could spin this into an ‘/Reader’ somehow? Maybe make you fuse with Host somehow, someway? Ooh, ooh, I know!”

They snapped their fingers and started typing again. “I could make this a whump!”

Author’s eyes widened. “No, no, I’ve had enough of that for a lifetime. Um, what… what do you mean you’re my new author?”

They kept typing, and Author hoped Als wasn’t actually going through with the whump idea as they said, “I’m not writing the whump, don’t worry. You said the ‘corgi’ was in control of your story, correct?”

Author nodded.

“And they’ve been taking quite the long break, correct?”

Author nodded again.

“So it would make sense that someone would eventually come along and continue your story where it was left off. ...Correct?”

Author hesitated, but nodded. He asked, “What… what happened to the corgi?”

It was Als’ turn to hesitate, but they eventually answered, “Nobody ever truly knows what happens to an author when they suddenly stop writing. At least over the internet, I guess. Maybe they forgot their account password. Maybe they got bored of writing, or bored of their characters. Or maybe they… maybe they died.”

Als stopped typing and turned to Author. “I don’t know what happened to your ‘corgi’. But I do know that they wrote beautiful works, and that they’ve inspired me and so many others to pursue writing their own stories. So in the name of good fanfiction, I’ve made it my mission to continue where they left off with you.”

They smiled, and Author felt… at peace. He was forced to accept that his fate had changed hands, had been placed at the feet of this strangely intuitive teenager. 

“I’m not _strangely intuitive_ , asshole, I’m… well, maybe I kind of am smarter than I should be, but that’s not what this is about. I didn’t type this out for the comment section to debate my intelligence.”

Als looked off into the distance like the abyss was a camera from the Office, and Author felt that somewhere, someone was being glared at.

They turned back to Author and said, “I typed this out to save you from your fate. ‘The corgi’ wrote out a story with a cliffhanger and I just couldn’t stand for that. I couldn’t stand that a beautiful man such as yourself was struck with such a horrific fate.”

They made a face that reminded Author of E-Boy Mark, and he couldn’t help but snort. Als smiled wider. “There, see! You’re gonna have to start liking me and laughing at my jokes if we want this to go somewhere.”

“Speaking of somewhere,” Author gestured to the darkness around them, “Where are we?”

Als went back to typing. “I’m not sure, exactly. I just needed a private place to talk to you about this, and I just showed up here with my desk. It’s nice here though, there’s no distractions around.”

They frowned. “Though I didn’t intend for Doc to come here with you. I guess since he was written with you in the original work, he showed up too. I hope I can reverse whatever psychological damage I caused him, oops.”

Author blinked and let Als type on their laptop for a few minutes. It may have been hours, actually, time was hard to tell here.

“It’s only been, like, ten minutes, stop trying to be dramatic.”

Author ignored Als’ statement and asked, “What are you going to do with me? With us?”

Als stopped typing again. They stared blankly at their monitor for a while before saying, “I… I don’t know. I didn’t plan this far, really. All I knew was that I wanted to get you out of your room.”

They looked up from their laptop, but not at Author. Als looked straight ahead as they continued, “All of my works start that way, I suppose. I have an idea, a beginning, and I build upon it as I write. None of my works ever have a solid start to their end. None of them are ever truly planned out beforehand. They’re… they’re like plot bunnies, almost, but in… reverse? I have the side scenarios but I never _ever_ have the plot planned.

“But that’s gonna have to change.” Als turned to Author now. “Your story was so elaborate before, so carefully planned and perfected. My writing style isn’t gonna cut it. Like, at all. So I’m gonna need your help, OK? We’re gonna sit down here,” they typed a few lines on their keyboard and a chair appeared next to them, “and think of something. We’re gonna sit here and develop some sort of satisfying conclusion because _God damnit I hate torturing my characters!_ ”

Als patted the chair beside them, and Author slowly walked over to it and sat down. 

“Why are you having me help you?”

Als raised an eyebrow but kept smiling. “Would you rather I obliterate half of your roommates because I know nothing about them? And I also just told you, I have no fucking clue where I want this to go. That’s why I’m having you help me. Because I want to keep your family consistently happy. 

“...and I may or may not have used all my brain power on a different work.”

Author shook his head as Als opened another document on their laptop. They grinned and looked at Author as they typed blindly, “The Pissbabeis:”

“...That’s not what we call NateWantsToBattle’s egos.” Dear God, it was going to be a while before Author got used to working with a child.

“I am _not_ a child!!”

Author rolled his eyes but gave a small smile as Als deleted what they typed and replaced it with, “The End! As always, make sure to leave a comment if you liked this work, and don’t be afraid to request another!”

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I am not, like, completely rewriting Beautiful_Doom's works, and they aren't 'dead' or anything kjshgklh. I just told Author that to keep him from the knowledge that he's in an alternate universe now :). This was really fun, actually, and I had a wonderful time shamelessly writing about myself as a character in the story
> 
> Also I wasn't lying lol, most of the time I have no idea what I'm doing with a story besides the request/prompt/inspiration I am given/subjected to jkdhfgahkjsdf
> 
> As always, make sure to leave a comment if you liked this work, and don't be afraid to request another!


End file.
